Letting go, a little bit at a time

Friday

Aug 30, 2013 at 12:01 AM

The first day of school is next week, and my girls are both nervous and excited.

The first day of school is next week, and my girls are both nervous and excited.

I am feeling bittersweet about the end of summer. It seems that I just started getting into a lazy mindset and cast household duties aside for days at the lake or poolside and really began to enjoy myself, and now it's over.

This summer hasn't been remarkable. Quite the opposite actually. We haven't done anything spectacular. But I feel like we as a family unit have hit a milestone.

The girls are still young, but no one here is really a baby anymore. Molly is 4 going on 11, thanks to spending much of her time with her older sisters and their friends. The older girls are doing what they do. Getting older and, with that, all of the drama and minute-to-minute emotions.

I have spent the last decade making sure everyone is carefully lubed in sunscreen. Flotation devices have been strapped to them. Bike helmets and bug repellent all within arm's reach at all times.

Not so much this summer.

Molly asked to swim without her puddle jumper the other day. I wanted to say no, but David said yes before I could utter a word. Into the lake she went. I knew if she got in over her head all she had to do was stand up. There was no threat of drowning. And a lifeguard was 12 feet away. But I felt like I was watching a small bird fledge out of the nest.

I knew that there would be no going back. She would never want to go back into the lake with her puddle jumper. It was one small step toward independence.

I sat and watched her splash around. She kept looking back at me for reassurance. "I am here" I told her. I always will be, I thought to myself. Until I am not here anymore.

A bigger school and many schools converging into one with so many new faces. She is my nervous child and things aren't going as swimmingly as I had hoped with all of the administration changes and some things having fallen through the cracks, so I feel her stress, too.

I wish I could board the bus with them. Only let them listen to good friends and block out the kids on the bus who bully and curse. I would love to trail behind them in the halls and make sure they are OK.

That would be nuts. I realize this.

But after so many years of securing them in car seats and making sure their SPF was strong enough to ward off the harm of the brilliant sun, I still want to make everything all right.